


When the Siren Beckons

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bonding, Carrying, Drama, F/F, Falling In Love, Femslash Exchange, Fever, Flash Forward, Flashbacks, Friendship, Harvelle's Roadhouse, Hunting, Hurt Bela Talbot, Hurt/Comfort, Killswitch Engage, Nicknames, Protective Jo Harvelle, Romance, Stalking, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo’s solo hunting days are looking up when her stalker pops up and steals her right out of the line of duty. Season 2&3 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Siren Beckons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subwaycars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subwaycars/gifts).



> This was written for subwaycars for Femslash Exchange 2013. For possible prompts for Jo/Bela they offered: ‘Jo runs into Bela in her solo hunter travels?’ & ‘Bela stops by the bar while searching for something.’ Thanks for the prompts, they really got my muse going, and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> _Soundtrack:_ Okay, so my official song for Jo/Bela is Lacuna Coil’s ‘The Ghost Woman and the Hunter,’ but for this particular work, I chose Killswitch Engage’s ‘Always’

_~When hope seems lost_  
 _Down and lonely_  
 _I am here with you always~_

 

The hunt was turning out good, to say the least, better than the last few anyway. The last few where she had to stumble back to her pickup truck in the pitch black woods, where the nighttime sounds did nothing to soothe her already frayed nerves. The last few where she fumbled around for the lights in her shitty motel room, then hoped against hope she could find the medical supplies she stashed, and somehow manage to stitch herself up in time before she bled out entirely on the stained carpet. 

Jo Harvelle sighs, remembering but happy, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes as she trudges through a gap in the woods. 

Two down, one to go. If she could jinx herself by saying it’s been good so far, it’s too late now. 

Sure, getting away from her overprotective and controlling mother had been great, liberating even. But she knows full well she should have thought all this through better, should have realized she needed a partner, at least to get her started. Now she’s alone on the nights when she wishes more than anything she doesn’t have to be, because calling her mother is no option at all. 

There’s a flash of brown up ahead of her, close enough for her to make out, and Jo thinks it’s the lapsut and hopefully it is, because then this long night is about to be over. Until something very _human-like_ crashes into her and slams her unprepared form to the ground. As if that wasn’t jarring enough, the thing she previously thought was the lapsut, suffocating her currently, nails digging into her shoulder, takes her shotgun that Jo didn’t realize she dropped, cocks it and fires. 

It’s over a moment after, the silence as thick as the summer heat. She shoves the figure off of her and finally takes a glance as soon as she can find her feet again. 

“Bela?”

The brunette with leaves tangled in her hair lies flat on her back, breathing heavily, smiling with uncertainty up at the hunter. “Hi, Jo?”

Jo just stares at her, forgetting entirely about the lapsut that hopefully lies dead behind her. Jo doesn’t know why her eyes won’t pull away, or why her mouth is hanging open in a shock she doesn’t wish to display, but maybe it has something to do with Bela lying not even a foot away from her, and how it seems so natural. How it _is_ so natural. Honestly, Jo can’t understand it; then again, there’s a lot about Bela Talbot that she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Hunting,” Bela replies, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “What do you think I’m doing?” 

She knows it’s no coincidence after she says that, knows Bela most likely has been following her; but for why and for how long, Jo has no idea. Bela honestly couldn’t hunt if her life depended on it, yet here she is now, and the fact that she just managed to kill the lapsut before Jo did doesn’t send her reeling in anger just yet, only astonishment. She turns around and finally _looks_ then, stares at the dead creature lying at her feet, the silver bullet that found a perfect path to its heart. 

“Lucky shot.”

And Jo, without turning around, can practically see the smile, “Seems like luck’s been on my side these days, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, but her heart isn’t in it, not as much as it used to be. Truth is, Jo’s only met Bela Talbot twice before, and both times have been disappointing, in more ways than one. Still, on both occasions, the thief has left a deep impression on her that can’t be shaken, one that can be forgotten about at times and then the next moment, it’ll burn like an imprint forever there on her skin, making her coil in rage and shiver in desperation. 

Bela, here right now, is setting her skin on fire, and by her smile she probably knows all too well. 

“I could have gotten to it myself, you know. Already took care of the other two.”

“Oh, I know,” Bela says, almost as if it’s a question, and the very fact of that grates against Jo’s nerves mercilessly. Although, when Bela holds out her hand, Jo Harvelle takes it and lifts her back up on her feet, half thinking she should just push her right back down again. She looks Bela up and down and realizes the flash of brown she had seen, just before it, _she,_ had crashed right into her, was none other than Bela’s leather jacket. Bela seems oblivious to her staring, currently shaking the dirt off said jacket while the hunter tries to will herself to look away. There’s a certain grace to everything the thief does that never fails to have Jo completely spellbound. “Just thought I’d save you the trouble is all.”

_The first time, Jo hadn’t known any better._ Bela was just this beautiful, sultry thing that sauntered on into her bar and took a seat off to the side, as if there was any part of her presence that could be invisible to anyone at all, especially Jo. Bela was the only thing that could be seen that late at night, given that Jo was getting about ready to close. She didn’t have the heart to shove her out and close the door behind her. 

Even before she offered to let her say, she knew her soul would be damned to hell if she didn’t. Her hair was soaking wet and her clothes ripped, yet she shone like the sun as the then bartender hurriedly put the glass she was cleaning away, just to stare at her and half hope she wouldn’t notice. 

When Bela’s hazel eyes had latched onto her own, she was lost, if she hadn’t already been lost before right from the very get go. 

She lifts her hand, fully prepared to brush the leaf out of the thief’s hair, the one that hadn’t quite been shaken loose. She doesn’t want to give Bela anything though, not after she left, so her hand drops as if it never lifted to begin with. “I’m not some damsel in distress,” Jo exclaims, “you should have just left me to it.” As if Bela’s going to listen to _anything,_ as if she has ever listened to anything coming out of Jo Harvelle’s mouth. It’s not that she thinks Bela thinks that though, that she needs protecting or saving or whatever, she just hates that Bela’s here right now, trying to make her lose her balance, the not so steady after all grip she’s trying to keep on her own fragmented life. 

Damn Bela Talbot. Everything she is. 

She digs the lighter out of her pocket, and it almost slips right out of her shaking figures, but she keeps as good a grip on it as she can, lighting the lapsut on fire and watching it burn for a brief moment before turning away. She can’t look at her, refuses to see her flawless face, lit up in the darkness as the flames flicker across it. 

She can’t remember what she hoped for, what she dreamed about. It isn’t worth it, none of it is worth it, so no one can hardly blame her when she starts walking away, when she says fuck it all and heads back down the path. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” She can feel Bela stumbling around in the dark behind her, leaves crunching underfoot and really, Jo should be irritated, Jo _is_ irritated, but it seems like she isn’t angry or irritated enough. She keeps walking but slows her pace, giving the other woman the opportunity to catch up. “I’m sorry, okay? Just figured you might want some help...”

She reels around to face her, “Did it look like I needed help?” Though she only gives her the satisfaction for a brief moment before heading back up the path with a quicker pace this time around. 

“Maybe... okay, no, but... Look, I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal of this...”

She ignores her, but how can she really when she’s only four steps behind, annoying her, grating against her nerves like...? “You know what? Just go back wherever you came from. I don’t want to see you anymore, I don’t want to hear from you anymore, I don’t want...”

And if Jo thought that Bela would be collapsing on the spot, as if it was her intention all along to cut her off and make her feel _guilty,_ then she would have just kept her mouth shut. 

“Hey!” She exclaims, as if her voice alone could stop Bela from dropping like a sack of bricks towards the ground. Her feet move without her even forcing them to, and her hands grasp Bela’s arms and her entire body then joins the fight to help her slide easily to the ground. “Hey hey hey hey hey...,” it seems like her words are the only thing she has. She’s never been like that, she’s always retreated into herself mainly whenever someone got hurt. Now it seems so different, and she both hates and loves that it’s due to Bela. 

She quickly checks Bela over for any signs of injury, and happens to finds several deep cuts, made by claws, marring the skin of her upper arm. The claw marks are long and deep, but the bleeding is only sluggish, meaning the poison has already set in. 

“Shit,” Jo curses under her breath, hoping Bela doesn’t hear. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” Or what Jo should really say is that she’ll be okay for the next two minutes or so, and then she’ll start getting groggy and disoriented and possibly forget who Jo is and maybe even her own name. “Bela?” She gives her a moment but gets no response, Bela merely looks up at her with wide, dazed hazel eyes. It startles Jo a little, and Jo rarely gets startled. “Bela...”

The other woman jumps then, causing Jo to almost let go of her. “What the bloody hell happened?”

“You’ve been marked.”

“Marked?” Bela turns her head from side to side, soon pushing herself out of the hunter’s arms as soon as she realizes she’s in them. There’s a startling, painful pang in Jo’s chest, which she promptly ignores. “What do you mean marked?”

“I mean,” Jo replies, “that the lapsut scratched you. You couldn’t have thought to tell me that little detail?”

Bela looks down at the angry red marks on her upper arm, her fingers almost brush against the largest one, but Jo’s hand stills her. “I didn’t really feel it, to be honest.” Jo sighs quietly at that, wishing she had brought some bandages with her to at least keep the marks clean. She rips off a portion of her shirt and wraps it gently around the wound. Bela still winces, pulling her arm away instinctively, and Jo tries to hold her with her eyes. 

Bela looks away though, and it leaves Jo feeling cold and rejected. 

 

Jo wonders how she gets herself into these sort of situations. 

She isn’t panting as much as she probably should be by the time they reach her pickup truck. What seems like hours of dragging Bela out of the woods and back to civilization, has only caused the hunter to become strangely protective and apologetic. Does she open her mouth? No, she merely lets the other woman suffer in peace.

She leans Bela up against her truck for a moment, needing to clear her head of how good Bela smells and how their bodies seem to fit amazingly well together, just like puzzle pieces. 

The heat is unbearable, and she wipes sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Bela looks terrible, long, dark hair sticking to her pale face and head turned against the window, as if seeking comfort. Jo longs to cup her cheek and have her head turn into her own hand, but she needs to get her into a confined area to lessen her nerves. 

Bela’s attempts to get into her truck are less than futile, so Jo ends up picking her up and placing her gingerly in the seat, surprising herself with her patience and sudden compassion for someone she really doesn’t want to be near right now, let alone practically carry to her truck. 

Really, with all that Bela’s put her through, Jo should be the one being carried right now and not the other way around. Not that Jo Harvelle wants to be carried, just that she...

Forget it. Forget it entirely. 

Bela mumbles something about an object that she needs, or maybe something else entirely, not that Jo’s paying much attention. She merely shakes her head, closes the door, and tries not to make her jogging to the other side too obvious to the passenger inside. 

Jo is worried about Bela though, just because she always does her homework and happens to know the symptoms of a lapsut mark, doesn’t mean that she neglects to somewhat pity what Bela’s gonna have to go through for the next eight hours or so. Sure, there’s a part of her that’s smiling inside, which she’s allowed to do given Bela’s not going to die or anything; plus there’s a part of her that’s beyond the point of being irritated, though she knows full well that she’s too good to just leave Bela behind with her own misery; but there’s also that teeny tiny part of her that wants to pull the thief into her arms and reassure her that every thing’s going to be alright, because Jo Harvelle wouldn't have it any other way. 

They’re currently in the loopy stage though, so if Bela understands anything that Jo says or does in the next hour or so, it’ll be a miracle in itself. 

Bela’s continuous stirring beside her is making her panicky, and her delirious rambling and choked laughs are doing anything but reassuring her. Her foot presses down on the accelerator harder, wishing she could go faster, wishing none of this happened in the first place. Jo runs through the list of symptoms in her head, a combination of obscure ones found on the Internet and others found in books. She breathes out and breathes in, drifts back into reality for a moment to hear Bela slur her words before she zones back out, genuinely too scared to be dealing with any of this. 

She’s going to be wearing herself out before too long, and Jo hopes it’ll never get bad enough so that she’ll be forced to restrain her. 

Bela seems somewhat coherent again when they park and take a mere glance at the agonizingly long walk ahead of them. All the close parking spaces are taken, leaving Jo to curse under her breath and examine the thief even more carefully. “You sure you can make it?”

Bela scoffs, though knows better than to push away from Jo this time. “What are you going to do, carry me?”

Jo shakes her head, smiling for a moment, “I will if I have to.” She takes Bela’s uninjured arm and wraps it carefully around her neck and shoulders, then uses her upper body to support most of her weight. It isn’t much of a struggle, just like it wasn’t the last time, and Jo finally lets her barriers down enough to feel shock, because Bela honestly can’t be this light. Jo hasn’t been hunting long enough in order for her to acquire much muscle, and lifting another woman shouldn’t be as easy as this. 

But Jo can practically feel Bela’s ribs through her shirt, and she’d be able to carry her to their room and inside with no trouble on her part. She wants to joke about it to make Bela feel better, because she would have to be blind not to notice the sweat covering her pale face, but she bites her lip instead and takes even more of Bela’s weight. 

“Come on, we’ll be there before you know it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bela grumbles. There’s a long silence after that, a silence that makes Jo move faster. It’s a miracle when she gets her onto the bed, considering Bela’s back at _that_ stage again. “Come on, Jo,” she pouts. “I was supposed to go shopping after this.”

“Forget it,” Jo responds, pushing her back down on the bed and glaring at her when she makes a move to get up again.

Bela flops back down, sighing heavily, twirling a lock of hair around her finger unceasingly. “Do you ever think about how grim our lives truly are? I mean, we should be vacationing on some tropical island somewhere, in bikinis, red for me and yellow for you, and snapping our fingers for cocktails. I’ve always wanted to go scuba diving, not that my hair actually looks _good_ when it’s wet, but still... Come on, Jo,” her eyes are boring into her, a smile behind them, “you can’t seriously want to hunt for the rest of your life. Just like I can’t seriously keep running all over the country for random, overpriced artifacts.”

Her head drops back down on the bed more dramatically this time, and Jo eyes her with amusement. A pouting Bela is actually sort of a cute Bela. 

Plus, Jo would like to admit that sipping cocktails on the beach sounds sorta nice, but she eyes her injured arm worriedly, which seems lifeless as it lies on the bed, and then sets her mind on unlacing Bela’s designer boots. She pushes her hair back behind her ears, feeling even more protective than earlier, as well as prepared and confident, “May I?”

Bela looks up at her then, wide eyes seemingly so innocent and confused. “Oh, Jo,” she says, her hand lingering on Jo’s cheek for a long moment, “you’re so beautiful. You know that, right?” She laughs and smiles wide, as if she’s just revealed some huge secret, and if Jo can’t resist then no one can. 

She smiles to indulge her, justifying it for only a brief second. “Shut up.”

 

Bela sleeps while Jo runs through the uncertain yet likely symptoms again. She has half a mind to call Dean to confirm, but she’s determined not to allow herself any help. It’s the only way she’s going to learn, after all, and if anyone can help Bela get through this she can. 

She checks out the lapsut’s marks for about the tenth time and is pleased to see that the wounds are healing and the swelling is minor. All that’s left is for the poison to work its way through Bela’s system, and then they can both go back to what they were doing...

Bela stirs then, her hand finding Jo’s and grasping it uncertainly. Her eyes flicker open, “Jo?”

“Hey, having fun being the damsel?”

“Not really.” She winces, hands dragging languidly across her face. “I’ve got a killer headache, plus I’ve been having dreams about high heeled shoes.”

“Sounds nice.” Yeah, Jo thinks, she’s been mumbling about shopping at Neiman’s, as if it were a certain way to drive Jo insane. 

“Sure, until they’re crushing your face into the ground. Hey...,” she sits up then, glancing around the small, poorly decorated room, “please tell me that I’m dreaming this and that I’m not in some filthy, flea ridden motel room. I could die right on these sheets just as easily as I could die from an infected shoulder.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust at the sheets and the puke colored walls, and Jo does have to admit, a hunter’s life is certainly not a glamorous one. 

Still, Bela could show her some ounce of appreciation. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Miss ‘High Standard,’ I’ll be sure to book a five-star hotel the next time you happen to drop by. Since when does my life cater to yours, anyway?”

“Jo, why aren’t you at the Roadhouse anymore?” As if Bela needs to know, has to know, must know; as if Jo deserves to give her a decent explanation on this or anything else for that matter. 

“Because I need my own life! Because... forget it, I’m not even going to explain it to you. You won’t get it. You never did.”

“Try me again.” Bela speaks clearly, as if her words are some sort of message Jo’s supposed to get. 

It isn’t until Jo is two seconds away from the temptation of leaving Bela behind becomes vividly real, that she finally gets it. Bela jumped in front of her, Bela prevented the lapsut from marking her. Bela saved her life. All the while, Jo was cursing herself for seeming like a damsel in distress and actually, the other woman was offering herself up to be one, putting herself in harm’s way selflessly, though perhaps just to get back into Jo’s good graces. It should piss her off, it should do anything other than make her melt into a gooey mess that’s bleeding out all over the worn-down carpet beneath her. 

“Damn.” She sits down on the bed, her head in her hands. And she wishes Bela’s hands weren’t suddenly in her long, tangled hair, smoothing it back from her face, because suddenly those long, thin fingers and cold, soft skin make everything around her _too hard._

Really, the only thing Jo has to do is to just sit here and stay here, and make sure that Bela doesn’t try to kill herself. Easy, right? Except that Jo can’t picture it, can’t picture Bela holding a gun to her head all because of some stupid marks that make a person go insane temporarily. 

The hours since Bela lies back down on the bed, turning away from the hunter as if to spare her from a pain she shouldn’t even know that Jo feels, are like feathers being dropped out of two-hundred story buildings, if that even makes sense, she ponders. 

There’s tossing and turning behind her, and she bites her fingernails and tries not to think about Bela fucking Talbot, but she can’t stop. She’ll never be able to stop after this. 

 

_The second time, Jo knew better but tried to convince herself, in vain, that she truly didn’t._ Bela stayed and it felt like a life Jo Harvelle could have had, a life she wanted. But things were moving as fast as a roller coaster, and Jo knew little to nothing about who the other woman was. She was beautiful and smart and clever, and she helped out in the bar rather than lay around and do nothing. Wintertime meant the Roadhouse was always packed, with hunters coming in from the cold and sharing stories over a cold glass of beer, but with Bela occasionally bumping into her as she moved away to serve drinks, the days flew by and actually seemed happy to her, looking back on them. 

Bela would knock on her door every night, as if loneliness was a physical being that loomed above her to taunt her, and Jo would glance up from her dad’s journal, filling her head since childhood with monsters and the various ways in which to kill them, and she would open the door. They would sit together on her bed, side by side, sometimes glancing out of the window at the snow falling outside. 

In Bela’s eyes, she could see the need to pull herself together, and in many ways Jo felt exactly the same way. 

She couldn’t remain here, and she wondered if Bela would ever give her a way out. 

Jo tries not to think about _that_ time, tries not to imagine what would have happened if Bela had given in to her desires and ignored her insecurity, right when the both of them had needed it, and chosen to stay. Maybe she wouldn’t have left the only home she’s ever known then, or maybe she would have tagged along with Bela, found a self-confidence in herself she’s never truly felt, the reason why she had to leave, had to prove herself to... herself, and maybe even the world. 

It’s all one big fucked up mess that Jo Harvelle doesn’t even want to think about. 

With Bela she felt warm and happy and secure, she felt like leaving could possibly be put off for a long while. 

The leaving though, had been inevitable. 

She can’t imagine the pain Bela’s going through, the fever and yet the piercing sensation of being ice cold at the same time. She can’t imagine why Bela felt the need to leave, why there wasn’t even an honest to god goodbye, just saying she had to hit the road and that was that. She can’t believe...

“Don’t, Jo. It’s not worth it.”

“Not worth what?” Because she knows what Bela means, but she wants an answer, wants Bela to get insistent and angry at her. Wants Bela to rip her head off with such venom because Jo didn’t try either. It wasn’t just her, it was the both of them. 

The two of them denying themselves for so long. 

She wants to tell Bela that she’s worth it, worth Jo’s time and her energy and her hatred at the world for what it does to her, for what it puts the both of them through. She wants to know why Bela tracked her down as if she were important to someone other than her mother. 

“I won’t be here much longer anyway.”

Jo pushes Bela’s hair out of her eyes from where it has tumbled onto her face, ignoring her own, and she eyes Bela’s frail, beautifully delicate form with a deep curiosity. The other woman’s eyes are on her, but they couldn’t seem farther away. “What are you talking about?” 

“I’m going to hell, Jo.”

“Going to hell for what?” As if it’s just some notion that Bela has, as if Jo hasn’t heard about Dean. But there’s this creeping sensation that latches onto her spine and begins its ascent, giving her no warning before it goes straight to her head, giving her a headache. The pieces are starting to fit, why Bela has been so standoffish and ready to leave at any moment’s notice, why she’s seemed so hesitant around Jo at times, as if Jo will shove her out before it really starts getting bad. “Bels...”

“Not enough time really... it’s good you didn’t pick up the phone.”

“What did you do?” Jo demands, nearly screams in frustration at her, because it seems just like Bela to go off and do this. To go do something completely stupid and then drag Jo into it, into wanting to be with her again. All she’s doing is dragging Jo into loving her, even more than the last two times, and inevitably not wanting to leave her behind. 

“It was a long time ago, hardly matters now. You’re the only person that has ever been good to me, you know that? I’m sorry if I ever let you down, I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. 

“It’s okay,” Jo says softly, leaning down to kiss her deathly cold, chapped lips. Bela’s move alongside her own, but barely, and Jo swallows down a huge lump in her throat. “We can try harder now.”

 

Jo is filled with a dismay she can’t put into words. 

Bela lies on the bed right before her, eyes bloodshot and features filled with nothing but hopelessness. She seems so desperate. Desperate for someone to save her...

She is so _sick_ of sitting back on the sidelines and watching people get hurt and even killed. Those men that came into the bar, depending on her mother, the ones she couldn’t save and how helpless she felt, and how helpless yet desperate Jo felt in trying to comfort her, even though her mother was as tough as nails, had to be since her father... Her mother taught her to be strong and capable and pushed her to let go. She never could do the last one though, still can’t; it doesn’t matter how Bela’s made her feel before, like she’s nothing, nothing but a onetime fling and then it’s right out the door, out of her life. The looks Bela sent in her direction had to mean something, the way Bela’s not looking at her right now has to mean _something._

“Hey.” She shakes her shoulder gently but there’s not any movement on her part. Jo’s scared, but she refuses to show that to Bela. She read up on the symptoms... she’s prepared. 

She’s not prepared. Because Bela Talbot seems dead already. 

“Okay...,” Jo stands up, making a move to pick the thief up because damn it, she’s not just going to sit around and do nothing. She thinks about her mother, about what she would tell her to do right now, and she borrows some of her strength because she needs it. She’s not just gonna let Bela suffer alone and in silence, burning hot to the touch and depending on Jo entirely. “Let’s get you cooled down, okay?” She can at least do that. 

Though it’s as if Bela thinks she doesn’t care and is cutting her off, just like this, refusing to acknowledge her or even look at her. Jo realizes how truly little she knows about her, yet also how the little she knows makes her even more protective. 

She wants, rather _aches_ to know every single little thing there is to know about Bela. 

_“Did you find what you were looking for?” Jo asks, trying to keep the anger she feels completely inside of her, but unable to hide some of it in her voice._

_Bela looks at her then, an unreadable expression on her face. “Not really,” her eyes seem faraway, and she looks around in confusion for a moment, as if not knowing where she is. “Well,” she shakes her head as if to clear it and glances at the door. The door that will lead her out of Jo’s life, the door that is already crushing her as she looks at it. “I better get going then.”_

_“Yeah, guess you should.” Jo tries to act like she doesn’t care, but she does. She can do nothing but care._

_“Does this attitude pop up on a regular basis, or is it just for me?”_

_“Just get out!” Jo shouts, because they’ll both be better off without each other, because they’ll both be better off with each other... Jo just doesn’t know which one anymore. And she’s so damn tired of fighting and getting her hopes up._

_It’s time to get out of here, out of the Roadhouse, out from underneath her mother’s shadow and her mother’s rules and her mother’s belief that only she knows what’s best for her daughter. And it looks about high time for Bela to leave too._

_“Fine,” Bela says, turning away before she can read the expression on her face. “Just do me a favor, Jo, and don’t get yourself killed.”_

_She walks out with Jo thinking that she fails to owe Bela Talbot any failures, even though if she had asked for one thing, Jo would have granted it in a heartbeat. Just to get her to stay._

_If the door had slammed shut she would have felt better, but the sound of the door closing is so quiet, the motion so slow, that it’s like a gunshot to Jo’s heart._

Jo starts up the bath and arranges Bela comfortably in it. She moans in protest when the lukewarm water envelops her, though Jo understands when she doesn’t fight back: she’s too exhausted. Jo brushes her hair back from her overheated face, only wishing she could do more. Wanting to allow the other woman the most privacy she could offer, she kept her clothes on; they were filthy anyway, and Jo already thought ahead and brought out something of her own that she could only hope Bela wouldn’t criticize. 

“You’re not going to climb in with me, are you?”

“No,” Jo can’t help but smile, cause the thing is, as terrible as Bela looks right now, she also looks really damn beautiful. “So don’t tempt me.” She gathers her hair together before it can get too soaked, her fingers massaging her scalp and brushing back the stray hairs that cling to her face and neck. Bela smiles tiredly up at her in appreciation. 

“Believe me, love, I can do without that on my conscience.”

There’s a long silence that Jo actually finds comfortable after that. She plays with the thief’s hair for a good long while before shampooing it thoroughly, hoping Bela doesn’t notice how often she smells it after dousing it in peach shampoo. 

“I’m tired, Jo.”

“Don’t,” she says firmly, “another hour and a half at the most, and then...”

“And then what? You’ll hit the road, and I’ll go back to obtaining and then selling incredibly rare items for extravagant prices. It’s an endless cycle, Jo-bear.”

“Wait...,” she chuckles a little, “did you just call me Jo-bear?” Bela smiles at that, and while it seems like it takes every ounce of strength that she possesses, it lights up her life in a way she’s never known before. Because suddenly, it’s like they’re both right back where they started, Jo looking over sometimes to find Bela watching her carefully, a fire within her eyes that causes Jo’s heart to beat faster. 

“Hey,” Bela shrugs even more tiredly, and Jo suddenly wonders if it’ll be the last thing she ever sees her do, “you called me Bels.”

_After a while..._

_The water is dripping, and Bela’s wet hair is clinging to her sobbing face and shielding her bloodshot eyes. There’s Jo hovering over her, wondering why the hell she just didn’t beg her to stay, didn’t try to put effort into anything._

_The gunshot makes her jump, makes her look over to see one of Bela’s hands dry and dangling off the edge of the tub, a clatter resounding throughout the room too soon after._

_There’s a beating heart and then it stops._

_The once blooming flower wilts._

_Her phantom screams tear at Jo’s skin until she can’t breathe anymore._

 

_There’s a call on her cell, and she’s been really trying to ignore calls lately, but she picks it up and glances at the caller ID anyway. Unknown. She wrestles for a moment about whether to pick it up, about finding out who’s on the other end or merely waiting for them to leave a message, but ultimately lets it ring. Five minutes later and there’s no voice message, and Jo stares at the phone for a while, trying to fill this empty hole inside of her with something._

_If she calls her mother, she’ll break._

_So she doesn’t._

Bela’s eyes are begging and dark and stir something up inside Jo Harvelle. 

The water is dripping, and Bela’s wet hair is clinging to her sobbing face and shielding her bloodshot eyes. There’s Jo hovering over her, wondering why the hell she just didn’t beg her to stay, didn’t try to put effort into anything. 

Jo is shortening the seemingly vast space between the two of them and slipping into the lukewarm water. Her hands are on Bela’s cold face and her lips are on the thief’s, and she hears a clatter and doesn’t care where it came from. Bela’s breath is somehow warm and alive and Jo breathes more into her, giving her more life, giving her everything that she has been too terrified to give and Bela has been too lost to take. 

There’s a beating heart that is sluggish but doesn’t stop. 

The thief who looks like a ghost and the hunter keep breathing. Echoing. Side by side. Simultaneously. 

“I called you,” Bela chokes out when Jo helps her out of the tub, wraps a towel around her and practically carries her over to the bed. She thinks it’s over, that the poison has finally worked its way through the other woman’s system, but Bela is left even more vulnerable and devastated than she was before, and Jo never thought anybody could or would cling so tightly to her, especially Bela. She’s told Jo too much about herself to ignore though, and honestly, Jo’s clinging to her just as much, if not more. “Didn’t think you’d actually pick up, not after what happened. But..., but I figured that there was some chance I’d hear your voice on the other end. That I’d know you were okay and that I didn’t have to worry so much anymore.”

Jo’s voice sounds small and weak when she speaks. “I’m sorry.” 

Bela places her fingers on her lips, preventing her from rambling. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Her accent on that last word is so thick, and suddenly a wave of pain and past longing washes over the hunter like a tidal wave. She’s missed Bela, missed the sound of her voice, the cinnamon smell of her hair that’s always convinced her that she’ll never have the guts to leave. 

Except she did, she just up and left and Jo didn’t know what to do with herself then. That’s why she had to leave, to prove she was capable, that she could do anything she wanted without Bela. She clung to this childish hope afterward, just a part of her that has never left, not even with time.

But she’s always wanted Bela Talbot, and this time she won’t be such a pushover. 

“You know how many favors you’re gonna owe me because of this,” she grins, “right?” She’s seen parts of Bela’s life that she would have never been able to imagine, still can’t quite comprehend, how Bela could go through so much and still turn out to be such a beautiful and amazing person, one with major trust issues, but Jo figures they can work from there. 

Bela smiles back, playing with Jo’s hair this time instead of her own, “Jo, honey, I have a good feeling.”

 

Jo is frustrated and counts down the days even though she doesn’t know the looming end date before the both of them. To be honest, she doesn’t want to think about it, but some days that’s all she’s thinking about, because losing Bela should be a choice, _her_ choice, not some damn thing that’s going to happen any day now, any second now. 

Bela leaves for a while and Jo calls Dean on the phone, afraid to say her name, searching for a way out selfishly as if Sam isn’t trying and failing to do the exact same thing. She stops hunting for a while and goes to see her mom, cause she figures it’s time, and what she thought would be a closed door or a slap in the face is a warm welcoming and an even warmer hug. 

Her head is only in the game when Bela’s beside her; nevertheless, she promises to keep in touch with her mother and starts hunting again. Bela stumbles into her before too long, and Jo thinks of nothing but how many weeks they have left. _They._ She’ll be damned if Bela thinks she can keep Jo’s mind off of it. 

Throughout the mess they are apart and together, the hunts are short and small and more of a reason to be together than anything else, and if Bela were to put anymore distance between them, she wouldn’t be there at all. 

Although, if anyone were to tell Jo that it would all end up with her dying and becoming a ghost, and Bela inevitably going to hell, she would just keep her fingers crossed and pray her fate would be the latter. 

**FIN**


End file.
